Eyes to the soul
by Gothical-Fairy
Summary: Harry has never really been able to 'read' people. A collection of eyes that Harry remembers in particular.


Eyes of the soul.

Harry had never understood the phrase 'the eyes are the windows to your soul'. It was always remembered simply as a line from clichéd love stories, ones that talked of true love and enemies that could block their eyes from all emotion. Harry had never understood.

Stories spoke of eyes flashing in anger, of love being reflected, of sympathy shining in hidden depths, but Harry had never really believed in any of it. How could eyes say anything about a person?

As a child, everybody's eyes had simply stayed the same; his relatives always looked at him with the same amount of disgust and measured hatred, never showing him any other expression. Others avoided him like the plague, with expressions of fear and sometimes, just sometimes, pity. Harry had never known it to be any different.

So, when he had first met Ron Weasley, he had been shocked to find that the red head's eyes seemed to glisten with friendliness, awe and general kindness. It looked like he was crying, only there were no tears and instead his eyes simply…well, glistened. For a time, that was the only emotion he could read in anybody's eyes, as they otherwise looked…normal.

Draco Malfoy had been an exception, he supposed. His eyes really _had _seemed cold, shining for nobody, but it seemed an almost natural state for the blonde and Harry thought nothing of it.

So, at the age of eleven, Harry knew of disgust, pity, kindness and…dignity? There was no word, really, to describe the last emotion, because it wasn't really an emotion at all, but, none-the-less, they were the few emotions – or lack thereof - Harry could recognise in a person's eyes.

The acceptance of Fear came from Pettigrew, when the blubbering idiot had begged for his life.

That was another emotion which he saw all too often.

And then he learned of jealousy, which was seen vividly in Ron's eyes during fourth year; those eyes, Harry was sure, he never wanted to see again.

Reading people still never came easy to him, though. He had learned of grief in fifth year; seeing Cho crying up close had given him ample time to study her eyes and what they 'reflected'. Maybe hope as well, but Harry would never be sure.

So grief was added to the list.

But still, Harry wasn't able to 'read' people to the extent that perhaps others could. It simply wasn't a natural skill. So, at the end of fifth year, when Sirius was battling his witch of a cousin, Harry labelled the new emotion Determination. This made his godfather's eyes turn black, clouded almost, his anger radiating across such a distance that Harry was sure everything within a mile would simply fall down dead.

And then there was desperation, desperation that he knew would be seen in his own eyes as Remus held him back after Sirius rolled under the veil. This was such a clear emotion that Harry saw no way that it _couldn't _be seen in the eyes, and when, in his struggle, the Gryffindor caught sight of the elder man's eyes, he saw it their to. The usually soft, amber eyes were suddenly brown, desperation and resignation rolled into one, clear portrait.

After that, Harry almost gave up 'reading people'. He simply couldn't be bothered to _care._ But it was impossible to forget what he _had _learned, and so, when he first kissed Ginny, yet another emotion was added to the list.

This emotion was a combination of happiness – which made eyes sparkle – and adoration – which was indescribable – which Harry naively named love in his adolescent mind. This emotion was seen repeatedly in the girl's eyes, and so when he broke up with her, the pure hurt and sadness in her eyes startled him. Maybe eyes really could tell you all you needed to know about a person.

Anger – violent, intimidating, life-threatening anger – he learned through Voldermort, when the man charged at him one final time in the last battle. After Harry murmured the words which caused the Dark-Lords downfall, those eyes went blank, lifeless. It reminded Harry of a time when he simply couldn't recognise _any _emotions in the people around him.

He was met with reluctantly accepting eyes from Ginny when he told her he couldn't get back together with her. They didn't begin to tear up until _after _he turned away.

But then happiness was once again seen in the eyes of those around them as they celebrated their new, Voldermort-free lives. For a long time, that was the only emotion he needed to be able to read.

Gratitude, however, was learned from Draco Malfoy; a person Harry had once been sure he would _never _be able to 'read'. But, even so, when Harry had stood in front of the Wizengamot court to speak of how Draco had joined the light side during the war, it was gratitude, Harry was sure, that had made his eyes turn a soft, gentle blue.

Then, in his late twenties – though perhaps nearing fifty behind his eyes which had seen so much pain – he learned of passion; passion which burned in the heart, clouded judgement in the mind and danced in the eyes of his lover as they kissed. He was no longer stupid enough to label this emotion love, and so called it what it felt like; passion, though a better name, he learnt after being scorned by the same person when the story was sold to the papers, was perhaps lust.

And yet still, after an insane number of years, there were still _so _many emotions that he could never find in the eyes of another person.

Commitment and blessed contentment had been what he saw in his friend's eyes, on the day Ron and Hermione were married. Perhaps leaving it till they were twenty nine was pushing it a bit, seeing as how _everybody _had assumed they would marry straight after the war and settle down to have kids, but the two had been adamant about having a little fun before marriage. Not fun with other people, but fun as in – 'oh, I know, let's pack up and leave and head off for a year or two of travelling'. Marriage was something to look forward to upon returning, and Harry had practically demanded they marry in England anyway; he wanted to actually be able to attend, and leaving Britain was almost impossible due to his overly clingy muggle partner at the time.

And now, looking back, Harry wished the list of emotions he could read was a whole lot longer. He wanted to know what it was he had seen in Hagrid's eyes that night when he came to deliver his letter on Harry's eleventh birthday; he wanted to know what he had seen in Tom Riddle's eyes as Harry bent over Ginny's half-dead body in the chamber of secrets; he wanted to know what he had been seeing in Remus' eyes that night in the shrieking shrack when the man had helped Sirius up off the floor; he wanted to know what he had been seeing in Ron's eyes when Scabbers was discovered to be the man he had always really been.

Harry wanted to know if, in fourth year, it was terror that Cedric had portrayed in his eyes when he learned of the dragons; if it was sorrow in Dumbldore's eyes, or perhaps tiredness and resignation at the end of fifth year; he wanted to know if Dumbledore had died happy that night on the tower, and he wanted to know if Snape had been at all reluctant to cast the curse.

Harry wanted to know if it could possibly be love that made his parents eyes light up as they gazed upon the one year old child that was himself.

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A/N; I have no idea where this came from. At all. I was writing the next chap of Veela Genes (eep – I'll have in finished and posted as soon as possible, I promise) and all of a sudden this sprung up on me. Well, hope you like it, please leave a review on your way out! 


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